


set the pace, catch fire

by weatheredlaw



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Desk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 10:35:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14353713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: It's teacher appreciation week, but Carolina isn't reallyfeelingit. Locus tries to help.





	set the pace, catch fire

**Author's Note:**

> for joules!!! who was having a rough day.

Every Teacher Appreciation Week, Carolina takes the gift they get from the school district, drops it right into the garbage, and goes back to doing her fucking job. She likes her job, she’s _good_ at her job. She doesn’t need an off-brand fitbit with an approximate battery life of six weeks to remind her that she is both overqualified, and overjoyed, to do what she does.

Would be sort of nice if her students felt the same way, but — not a lot can be done about that.

“You could try being less _mean_ ,” is Tucker’s suggestion. He’s perched on the counter in the teacher’s lounge, going through a brown bag and pulling out his usual — yogurt, turkey sandwich, half an apple, and an orange Fanta. Carolina has it on good authority his son eats the exact same thing with a little carton 1% milk instead.

“That’s _not_ advice,” Wash says. “Get off the counter.”

Tucker hops down and sits in a chair next to Carolina at the table. “Eh, wouldn’t help anyone. Teenagers are assholes.”

“ _You_ get stuff,” Carolina says. She knows for a fact that there is a chocolate cake sitting on Tucker’s desk right now, but she thinks it has more to do with his status as the youngest teacher in the department and not anyone’s general appreciation level.

“It’s a dumb week,” Tucker says. “You know how I’d like to be appreciated? With money. Preferably with the eighty-grand I need to send my kid to college.”

“Wouldn’t be enough,” Wash says.

“Well it’s a fuckin’ start.” Tucker takes a bite of his sandwich. “Hey, Ortez—” A shadow falls over their table, and Carolina recognizes Locus’ distinct presence. “How much loot did you snag for the week?”

“It’s Tuesday,” Locus says dryly. “And it’s not a competition.”

“Right, but I’m _making_ it a competition.”

Wash sighs. “Drop it, Tucker.”

“Aw, come on. Carolina’s kids _like_ her.”

Wash and Carolina both make a face, and behind her, Locus makes a noise of disagreement.

Tucker sighs. “You guys are a fucking _downer_ and a half. I’m gonna finish this in my classroom. If Caboose asks, I quit and moved.” He picks up his bag and the rest of his sandwich, shouldering the door to the lounge open. Locus takes his empty seat.

“I got a jar of cookies,” he says.

Wash nods. “From Katie Jensen?”

“Mmhm.”

Carolina scowls. “I have Katie Jensen.”

Wash glances at her. “She’ll bring some to you. She’s got you, what, fourth period? That’s next.” He finishes off his can of soda water and flicks it into the recycling bin. “I’m gonna head back, too. Don’t let this week get you down. Locus is right, it’s only Tuesday.” He puts a hand on her shoulder. “You and I both know you don’t need _cookies_ to know you’re really good at this, C.”

When he’s gone, Carolina says, “I hate it when he’s _happy._ ”

“He’s right.”

“I know.” She picks at the crust of her peanut butter and jelly. “Should I be...softer?”

“No.” Locus says this without hesitating. He gets up and goes to the fridge, taking out his tupperware and fishing in one of the drawers for a fork. “You’re perfectly fine the way you are.”

“I mean, I’m hard on them because I _have_ to be.”

“Then be hard on them.” He’s standing by the microwave, watching her as she ditches the rest of her sandwich and finishes off her diet coke. “I’ll see you later,” he says, and Carolina recognizes the tone.

“...Right. Well, I’m working late, so.”

“So am I.”

Carolina just nods and heads out of the lounge, back to her classroom.

 

* * *

 

Katie Jensen _does_ give her a jar of cookies in fourth period — homemade snickerdoodles, with a red bow on top.

“I hope you like them,” she says, and shuffles back to her desk.

“Thank you, Katie.” Carolina feels herself smiling and sets the jar on the corner. She can definitely feel the vibe in the room changing — like maybe Ms. Church can be placated with baked goods. Like maybe she _won’t_ assign them thirty extra homework problems.

Carolina gets up from her desk and writes — _homework: chapter 8, problems 1-55_ — and everyone collectively groans.

“Come _on_ , Miss C!”

“You weren’t born knowing physics, Palomo.”

“Would it matter if I _was?_ ” he asks.

“Absolutely not.”

Palomo groans and drops his head onto his desk, and Carolina begins her lecture.

 

* * *

 

She wasn’t _lying_ to Locus — she really does have to stay later to prepare for lab on Wednesday. By the time she’s finished it’s nearly five. When she gets back to her classroom, he’s sitting on the floor outside of it, reading from a book in his lap.

“Were you waiting?” she asks.

“Not long.” He stands, watching as she unlocks her classroom and lets him in. She lingers by the door to turn the lock again. The room is dark, save for the stray glow of the emergency lights in the corner. Carolina sets a few things down on one of the desks.

“I wanted to be done earlier, I just—”

Locus puts his hands on her shoulders and turns her around.

“Right,” she says. “Do you—”

“Your desk is fine, isn’t it?”

“Screws a little loose in the bottom, but I think that’s your fault.” She steps back toward it, sidestepping the corner until Locus can get his hands under her thighs to set her on the edge. “If I’d known it was going to be like _this_ today, I’d have worn—” He cuts her off with a kiss, both hands cupping the back of her head. Carolina’s own hands hang uselessly onto his shirt before sliding down to the belt around his slacks.

He pulls back and reaches up, taking off his glasses and tossing them to the side. They clatter off the edge of the desk and onto the floor, proving to Carolina they _might_ just be for aesthetics afterall —

And then her hand brushes the swell of his cock under his boxers and his breath...catches. She makes note.

They’ve been doing this for a few months now, but not often enough that she thinks she really _knows_ him. She just knows he likes _her_ , to an extent. That he is willing to stay after work long enough to fuck her stupid over her desk because for some reason she just can’t work up the guts to bring him back to her place.

If Locus minds, he doesn’t say. He goes back to kissing her, hands trailing down to undo the buttons of her jeans before he lifts her from the desk so she can slide them down with her underwear. It’s clumsy and if she’d _known_ she’d have planned for this, but Locus never seems to mind. He never seems to care to plan either, and honestly it’s her own fault for not having the guts to just...to just —

“Condoms,” he says, and swears, going for his pockets.

“Middle drawer—” She leans down and yanks it open. Buried under binders and folders is a little perforated line of condoms that she put there a few weeks ago. He pulls one out and looks at her, a little impressed. “You have terrible timing—”

“Only because you insist on it,” he says, pushing the drawer shut. Locus shoves his slacks and boxers down, drawing her in to kiss her one more time. “Turn around,” he says, and Carolina nods.

She grips the edge of her desk as he slides his cock into her with a groan. Her workspace is threadbare to begin with, but the little pencil cup with the cactus painted on it that Wash brought back from his trip to Phoenix last year jostles along the desktop, until it reaches the edge and tumbles to the floor. Pens spill onto the carpet, but Carolina is torn from her distraction by a sharp thrust. Locus leans forward and threads his hands through her hair, giving it a gentle pull. Carolina gasps as she’s drawn back, the angle forcing him deeper.

“Not to be — _ah_ — not to be _trite_ , but, you hardly need _cookies_ to feel appreciated.”

And as much as she _likes_ being bent over her desk and having her brains fucked out on a Tuesday as amicable stress relief, Carolina really wants to turn around and kiss him.

One of his hands slide over her own gripping the edge of the desk, thumb stroking over the swell of bone on her wrist. He kisses her ear, her temple, the back of her neck. His pace slows, and Carolina luxuriates in the feel of him, the fullness. She wonders idly if it would so _bad_ to have him over, to have him a different way.

It’s all the part of him she doesn’t want to show, the parts that don’t turn out the lights and don’t hide condoms in her _desk drawer at work_ — she gasps when his teeth dig into her shoulder, her blouse pushes to the side so he can draw his tongue over the injured skin.

He chuckles. “You have freckles there—”

“ _Please_ —”

“I know,” he says. “Not long—” Locus pants against her ear, and she hears her name. A first, for them. When they started doing this, it was quick and dirty, they hardly spoke more than a few words to one another. Now, his hands slide under her blouse, stroking her sides as he says breathlessly against her ear, “You feel so _good_.”

Carolina twists herself and he pulls out and away, a hand landing heavily on either side of her as they kiss. She winds her arms around his neck and the edge of the desk is digging into her back, but she just wants to _taste this_ , to know how it feels when you cross that line with speed and purpose. Before it was always careful, but Carolina wants to toss herself into it with abandon, and Locus doesn’t seem to mind.

He lifts her, laying her out flat on the desk. The jar of cookies and pretty much everything else falls to the floor as he fucks into her, his pace _brutal_. Carolina should stay quiet, but she cries out once before pressing her lips together to silence herself.

Locus finally comes with a low groan, dropping his head onto her chest as they both shake.

He looks at her. “If we did this somewhere else, you could scream.”

Carolina pushes herself up onto her elbows. “Fine,” she says. “Come over tomorrow.”

“I don’t know,” he says, dropping to his knees and spreading her thighs. “Seems a little desperate.” He leans in and presses his tongue against her cunt. She moans and slides a hand through his hair, gripping it tight as he slips two fingers into her and focuses his attention on her clit. Sometimes he does this, sometimes she doesn’t let him.

Right now, she absolutely _needs_ it.

He moves back once she’s come, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth as he stands. From her perch on the desk she has to look up at him, but it’s easy to pull him close and kiss him, slow and deliberate.

“I was making a joke earlier,” he says.

Carolina nods. “I could tell. You aren’t very good at them.” She cups his cheek, stroking her thumb under his eye. “You _should_ come over tomorrow.”

He steps back, reaching down to get rid of the condom and fix his slacks, dispelling the little bit of magic that had settled over them, in the aftermath. Carolina gets off the desk and does the same. The jar and her pencil cup are unbroken. Locus comes around and helps her pick up the pens and pencils. When her desk is relatively tidy again, he leans close and kisses her cheek.

“Do you like wine?”

“I can’t tell the difference so buy as cheap as you’d like.”

He chuckles. “I appreciate the honesty.”

She turns and grabs a sticky note from her desk, scrawling her address on it. “Tomorrow at seven.”

He nods. “Alright. Tomorrow at seven. Should I bring anything else?”

“Food, if you want.” Locus raises a brow. “Oh, I’m not cooking. You and I aren’t going to have time to cook.” She yanks him close by the front of his shirt and kisses him one last time. “ _Believe me._ ”


End file.
